Page 78 of The Countess Caper

As Holly’s eyelids began to droop, Rue ushered them away. She stopped Tessa in the hall. “A word?”

They stepped into another room that had once been lemon yellow and was now more on par with mustard. That had sat in the sun for too long. “Gah,” Tessa said. “No wonder no one ever comes in here.”

“Only someone has,” Rue said, tone full of needles and vinegar and foreboding.

Tessa frowned. “In here?”

“Everywhere.”

“The weasel?”

“No weasel I know is capable of opening windows or moving furniture.”

“Blast,” Tessa said. “Perhaps Beville is behind it?”

“He was with you, was he not? And why would he be interested in going through the cupboards?”

“Good point.” She rubbed her face. “That leaves your earl, Marigold’s jackass, or whoever Bryony is hiding from.”

“I did ask her this morning.”

Tessa’s eyes widened. “And did she tell you?”

“Of course not. But she seemed confident this has nothing to do with her.”

“Do the others know?”

“I didn’t want to alarm them.” Tessa raised an eyebrow. Rue frequently wanted to alarm them. “Oh, very well—I was busy with Holly. She was having a baby, after all.”

“Someone from the village, then? One can hope.”

“Mayhap. They might think this a very fine house.” They exchanged a glance. “More fool they,” Rue added, patting the wall with affection. Her hand came away damp. “Repulsive.”

“I shall see about more footmen,” Tessa said. “To keep watch. And I’ll talk to Peter in the gatehouse. After I wipe these walls with vinegar.”

Rue dragged her hand down her skirt, nose wrinkling. “Please do.”

Tessa spent the rest of the day stripping wallpaper and scraping moss and swatting at cobwebs. She found letters from the downstairs parlor in the upstairs parlor. Decorative boxes with their rusted lids pried open. A strongbox under a bed bearing what were definitely scorch marks. Recent? Or the result of some other nosy housebreaker a hundred years ago?

She also found porcelain sheep scattered in pieces on the floor, Paulette weeping over them.

“Oh, my lady!” she hiccupped, jumping when Tessa found her on her knees with a dustpan. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see them there on the edge of the table.”

Tessa smiled gently. They were all aware of how delicate Paulette was, bursting into tears at the slightest provocation, constantly looking over her shoulder, jumping at every sound. Tessa did not pry. But she knew a woman in hiding when she saw one. “Don’t trouble yourself,” she said. “There used to be dozens of those insipid things. I thought we’d already smashed them all playing bowls.”

Paulette blinked. “Oh.”

Tessa glanced around, noting the general disarray. “I see the weasel has made himself comfortable in here as well.”

She didn’t mention the floorboard, partially pulled up. Rue was right—Tessa did not know of any weasels who could do that. Someone had definitely been going through the house. How had they managed it, unseen by Mrs. Pompadour’s eagle eye and her suspicious footmen? Lennox paced the halls at all hours, soothing Parsley. Someone was nearly always awake.

Paulette wiped at the floor, taking away the ceramic shards and a layer of grime. Underneath, beautiful red cabbage roses had been painted directly on the wood. “See? Another surprise in this house,” Tessa said. “And all it took was a few sheep.”

“I’ll wash it up straightaway, my lady.”

Tessa did not see much of Roarke until later that night. He spent hours with Peter, Lennox, and Fergus assessing the security of windows and doors, discussing new locks, generally acting as though they were under siege. And he did not even know about the rooms that had been tossed. Tessa did not remind him that they had already checked all of the ways in and out of the house, and that there were a few secret doors he did not even know about. There were bells attached to the lower-floor entrances.

She wasn’t about to turn down help if it would keep her friends safe.